


peppermint.

by jinjangled



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, mj is a minor character and also a florist, short sweet and all over the place, snippet type fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 08:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14304852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinjangled/pseuds/jinjangled
Summary: In which Sanha associates Minhyuk with peppermint.





	peppermint.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [softsocky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/softsocky/gifts).



> for my angel.

Sanha doesn’t much like winter. The cold bites at his skin insistently, finding a way through his many layers of clothing, breathing down his neck and up his sleeves. He hates the way that he slips on frozen grass, the freeze melting away into puddles on footpaths where he slips yet again. He hates the way that it takes so long to heat a room up, hates how long he has to spend wriggling around in bed to get comfortably warm; just so that when he moves his foot one inch to the left, he’s cold again.

The best part about winter, he finds, is _cafes_ . There’s just something about walking into the warmth of a cafe, the golden glow of the light and the gentle envelopment of the smell of coffee, sometimes there might be a quiet playlist fading into the background. He loves the way that he can sink low into a chair and snuggle his chin deeper into his scarf, stretch his legs out underneath the table, let himself be _warm_ for a while. Sanha loves cafes like he loves the tea that they make, his order depending on his mood and constantly under constructions, the cafe he goes to also entirely dependant on his mood. The one near the centre of town is sometimes too busy for the quiet of his mind, but the one on the outskirts is sometimes too quiet for his yearning for distant company.

Sanha has learnt that he needs to keep a balance between spite and acceptance for the season, and as he sits huddled on a stool at the bench that lines the window of the busier cafe, he finds that balance is hard to find. His socks are wet from the puddle he slipped in, his fingers are only just coming back to sensation, and the rain doesn’t look like it will ease up anytime soon. He sighs into the rippling surface of his tea, its warm coils of steam almost mocking, and he wonders if condemning his bad mood will make it go away at all. He spends a moment staring into his cup, not really thinking much at all.

There is a presence on his right, announcing itself by dragging the stool out next to him rather loudly, and the sound seems to echo in his head. He fights back a sigh - it’s rude to sigh at a stranger - and pulls his phone out of his pocket. The presence on his left doesn’t seem to mind much for personal space, and it fidgets, turning this way and that.

“Excuse me?” it says. It - _he_ \- is a young man, most likely no older than himself. The very end of his nose is dusted pink to match the tips of his ears, his lips curling into a nervous smile. His eyes look a little wide, maybe a little lost as they seemingly search Sanha’s face, and Sanha is now fighting back a grin rather than a sigh. He’s _cute_ , and the way that his fingers are tapping at the side of the cup is _cute_ , the way his scarf engulfs him and makes him look maybe a little smaller than he really is; it’s all so _cute._ He’s reaching up to brush away the strand of wet hair that falls in his face, and Sanha smiles.

“I was wondering if you could help me,” the man says, voice soft in its hesitation. “I’m a little lost.” _Cute._ Sanha thinks.

“Yeah, sure, where are you headed?” He says instead. The man’s face turns to relief, eyebrows relaxing from where they were busy frowning, eyes falling into a softer expression as he puts his phone on the table in front of him. Sanha can see that it is open on a map. He listens as the man explains, his hair hair beginning to frizz and curl around his face, foot bouncing on the steel bar at the base of the stool. It’s easy to direct him, tells him a shortcut because he must be running late now, and as he laughs and thanks Sanha, all he can smell is peppermint gum.

 

A series of texts from Myungjun - long time and, with little complaint, self proclaimed best friend - rouses him from his sleep at eight in the morning. He’d grumbled and whined when Myungjun called him right after he’d texted, knowing full well that Sanha would need to be forced to get up. Myungjun had told him to _‘quit your whining, because I need your help!’_

Sanha is adamant that his ‘help’ should be considered paid work, but Myungjun likes to call it ‘volunteering’. Myungjun is a florist, the only one in town, and when there’s a wedding, it’s all on him. Sanha _always_ knows when there are weddings coming up because he helps Myungjun prepare the flowers; dozens of bouquets all requesting sprigs of lily of the valley, clusters of garden roses, other flowers Sanha didn’t know the names of, and all tied with pink and golden bows.

He’s pulling his gloves on as he hurries down the stairs of his apartment building, toes already freezing in his shoes, coat haphazardly thrown on. As much as he teases Myungjun, he loves the guy, and really does want to help as promptly as he’s needed. It’s busy out on the streets, filled with businessmen and tourists, so he opts to cut through the park to get to Myungjun’s work. Dogs tethered to their leashes wind their way through the people, threatening to tangle Sanha’s legs underneath him, his feet quicker than he can probably handle. The city sounds different in winter; the traffic sounds a little more distant yet a little more crisp, and sounds from far away seem to travel further. The bustle of peak travel would be a little overwhelming if he wasn’t used to it, but it’s second nature now to ignore it and continue on.

Perhaps being used to the city might not be the best thing, because he forgets about everyone around him. He adopts the mindset of minding his business, takes that a little too serious, because someone is cutting in front of his tunnel vision. He almost collides with them, but stops just before. Their hands clutch a travel mug, a green tag attached to a thin piece of twine hanging over the side. It’s peppermint tea, Sanha can tell, and he’s looking up to see who he almost bowled over. It’s the man from the cafe, the one that had lost himself getting to a work function. His hair is straight this time, his eyes softened by the sweet colour of pink blending into brown on his eyelids. The man smiles, the curl of his lips giving way to a bright smile.

“It’s you!” Sanha hears him say, and before he knows it, he’s smiling in response. “You’re in a hurry.”

If it were anyone else, Sanha might have snapped, might have scoffed at the obvious statement. He might have told them to take their nose out of his business, but as he looks at the man in front of him, shorter and bundled up in a puffer jacket, he only laughs.

“On my way to help out a friend.” Sanha explains, waving a hand vaguely in the direction he’s headed. The man nods with an open mouth and eyes glittering with genuine curiosity. He starts to walk in the indicated direction, slowly so that Sanha can match their paces. The sounds of their footsteps are harsh on the too-cold path, the rustling of their coats filling the air. Sanha doesn’t want silence to fall upon them, doesn’t want to let the memory of his voice fade. Sanha likes the way that the shorter man looks when he talks, the corner of his mouth quirking up every now and then, his eyes falling to the floor as he thinks through what he wants to say. Sanha hates silence, but he hates _forgetting_ more than he hates silence. He keeps his eyes forward, bottles his laughter as he asks, “Need any more directions?”

“No, not this time. I do need something else though.” In Sanha’s peripheral, he can see the way that the man looks up at him as he speaks, his smile never faltering, perhaps shifting into a smirk if anything. They stand side by side at an intersection, Sanha’s hand pressing the button to cross the road, raising an eyebrow. He casts a look to the side, slightly down, peering at the man with his hair falling across his forehead in straight strands. “Your number.” Sanha laughs then, completely taken aback, stunned into immobility as he watches the man continue walking across the road, the beeping of the pedestrian lights somewhat far away. He lets the visual flood his senses just for a moment, huge jacket covering halfway down his hands, jeans loose yet somehow completely fitting. The man moves gracefully, purposefully. Sanha jogs to catch up, and the man holds his hand out to the side, expecting for Sanha’s phone to meet his upward facing palm. He huffs at the confidence, yet he would have difficulty in saying that he minded.

Sanha drops his phone into his hand. They split after Sanha gives his number, too, and he makes it to Myungjun’s work barely on time. Later, he remembers to check if he has the man’s number.

_‘Minhyuk :)’_ The contact reads.

 

Sanha is swaying from one foot to another, the braided straw of the doormat crunching underneath his shoes. There’s a potted plant just next to it, but it looks as if it’s seen better days. There is a water stain on the concrete beneath it, and he makes a mental note to chide Minhyuk on his plant-keeping skills. Myungjun would wring his neck if he saw it. Sanha pities the plant because he doesn’t think that he, himself, has known a better day than today. He waits alongside the swarm of butterflies in his stomach, but somewhere along the line, the butterflies morph into elephants as he recalls the memory of faint pink on Minhyuk’s delicate cheekbones. He smiles to himself, suddenly not as bothered by the way that his ankles are copping the worst of the breeze or by the way that his fingers are stiff in the cold. He hears footsteps from inside, hears the television switch off, and his heart skips a beat. Minhyuk’s front door is swinging open, revealing the small man in his home environment, surrounded by a halo of artificial yellow light. His sweater is of knitted green wool, the collared shirt beneath it a dulled yellow. It’s an odd combination, one that Sanha might not have the confidence to wear, but it suits the soft brown that he’s dyed his hair. He matches it with jeans, a pair that Sanha knows all too well, the ones with the sewn-on red patches adorning the pockets, but he doesn’t have any shoes on yet. He’s wearing patterned socks, and Sanha is fighting back a laugh. _Cute._

“Hey,” Minhyuk is giggling, toes wriggling under Sanha’s scrutiny. He pivots in the doorway, and the light catches on the bracelet Sanha had bought him only weeks ago. Sanha’s head swims with an emotion he can’t put a label on; Minhyuk’s presence always makes him dizzy.

“I hope you’re wearing shoes tonight.”

“You’re late.” Minhyuk teases back, ducking behind the door to find his shoes, one leg lifting off of the ground.

“By five minutes,” Sanha waits, letting himself fall to the side to rest against the brick front of the house, the smile yet to fade off of his face. Not a day with Minhyuk has passed that lacks a moment where his face hurts from smiling so hard for so long. Minhyuk ruffles his hair as he switches the lights off, and just before he closes the door, he lets out the smallest of _oh’_ s. He’s running back inside, and Sanha grins as he shifts to put his head through the door. He smells that oh so familiar mint, one that might even sting if it wasn’t mixed with vanilla or the scent of Minhyuk. “Forgot to put the candle out.”

Minhyuk is reappearing at the door, peppermint chasing him and mingling with the soft curls atop his head, his eyes soft as he looks up at Sanha in the dim light of evening. Sanha can see the reflection of the sunset in his eyes, only just, but a sunset has never been more beautiful. He wraps an arm around Minhyuk’s waist, plants a kiss on the very top of his head.

“Let’s go.”

Minhyuk’s arm links with his, the familiar weight settling in the crook of his elbow, tugging slightly as they walk due to the difference in height. He can hear Minhyuk humming, the curve of his lips and the flush of his cheeks illuminated by the streetlights. Sanha wants to stop him in his tracks and sweep him into a hug, but this candid moment is too precious to interrupt. He’ll save the affection for later, when he’ll reach across the table to hold onto his hands, not minding anyone else in the restaurant. He’ll save the affection for later, their hands finding each other as Sanha pays for their food, Minhyuk smiling so brightly next to him.

 

“I keep telling you not to call me so early, I’ll wake up to your texts. Minhyuk is sleeping.” Sanha hisses into the phone, already gently swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress, Myungjun’s only reply an exasperated shriek. He winces, arm jerking to the side on reflex to hold his phone away from his ear, feeling around on the floor with his feet.

_“How old are you?”_

“Not as old as you, thankfully. Give me half an hour.” Sanha huffs quietly, ending the call and casting a longing look behind him to where Minhyuk is still sleeping peacefully. His sleep shirt is bunching up around his shoulders and neck, arm splayed out to the side. Sanha smiles faintly, still asleep for the most part. He finally finds the pair of slippers he’s been blindly searching for, slipping them on so that he makes as little noise as possible when he walks down the hallway. With regret, he drags himself out of bed, quietly finding clothes before he closes the door behind himself so that Minhyuk can keep sleeping.

He leaves a note on the counter, drawing hearts everywhere one can fit on the piece of paper. The world has a little more colour as he walks through the city, the sun feels a little bit warmer; he knows that Minhyuk is safe and is catching up on much needed sleep. His coat feels much warmer when he pairs it with the memory of their movie night, Minhyuk deciding to sleep over at Sanha’s for the first time. Sanha had bothered him for as long as possible, prodding him with his cold toes and tickling him. Minhyuk is cute when he’s sleepy, even cuter with that pout on his lips. Sanha grins to himself as he pushes open the door to the florist, not fazed by Myungjun’s grumpy expression.

It’s a slow morning despite its hectic nature; Myungjun running wild with stress, Sanha working at a normal pace as to not give himself premature grey hair. They got the wedding flowers done, on time, and Myungjun had taken a seat in the back room and held his card out for Sanha to take. “Coffee.” He’d stated rather bleakly.

> _From: Minhyuk :)_
> 
> _Thanks for the cereal, hope u don’t mind. See u Thursday x_

Thursday is a scheduled date night, and suddenly, Thursday is all he can think about as he waits in line at the cafe.

He runs a hand through his hair, peering at his reflection sluggishly before he reaches for his toothbrush. It’s nearing midnight, and he feels unsteady on his feet, getting a little more disjoint from reality as the night creeps on. He misses Minhyuk already, and although he’s only stayed for one night, it’s missed company. Everywhere he looks he sees somewhere that Minhyuk would fit nicely, be it on the couch watching television, in the study reading a book, in the kitchen making a cup of tea for himself. Sanha steadies himself with one hand on the counter with a tired sigh, other hand bumping into something Sanha doesn’t recognise as particularly normal along the way to the toothbrush holder; abnormal in the way that it is something that isn’t normally there. It’s a tube of toothpaste he’s never before seen, and before he can make the connection between it and Minhyuk, he’s reading the label.

Of course. Peppermint.

**Author's Note:**

> i have been trying to write a fic for SO LONG but nothing i write is coming out the way i want it to!!! very very annoying!!!!  
> you can find me on tumblr under the same username. thank you for reading!! <3


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